


Only Ever One

by marlowe_tops



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Anal Sex, Apples, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Chains, Collars, Flogging, Fête des Chaînes, Kusheth, Leashes, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Pride, Shahrizai, Shahrizai society, Tickling, Virginity, cinderella story sort of, don't have a date to the ball, gypsy curses sort of, kissing cousins, seriously though Mavros Shahrizai is the best character, the moral dilemmas of seduction, wild hot sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:12:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe_tops/pseuds/marlowe_tops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mavros Shahrizai finds himself without a date to the ball, and going stag to the Fête des Chaînes would ruin his reputation. In a moment of desperation, he announces that he's going to the ball with untouchable, celibate, virginal Thierry Valois.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Ever One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).



> While re-reading through Imriel's trilogy to do research for my actual Yuletide assignment, this was the story idea I couldn't get out of my head.

It’s never a good idea to procrastinate finding a partner for the _Fête des Chaînes_.

For most D’Angelines, the event of the year is the Longest Night. Reputations are made and lost by who has the most extravagant party with all of the most scandalous people. The Night Court takes no assignations, only lovers, and a spectacular time is had by all.

It’s my second-favorite night of the year. Like most of Kushiel’s Scions, my favorite night is that of the _Fête des Chaînes_.

Ours is a much smaller celebration than that of Longest Night, and not observed outside our province of Kusheth. There is only one party held for the Fete, that of the Shahrizai patriarch: Duc Faragon. It is a night to celebrate our heritage, and the invitation list is _very_ exclusive for those not of House Shahrizai.

Non-Shahrizai refer to the party as Duc Faragon’s Annual Fete, or the Kusheline Ball. We call it the Feast of Chains because of our tradition that each invited guest is expected to bring at least one partner on a leash. Exceptions are made for those who prefer to be on the receiving end of the leash or—in very rare occasions—for those who choose to remain exclusive to an absent partner. 

I qualify for neither.

In all my years attending the Fete, it had never occurred to me that I might have a problem finding a partner. I am _Mavros Shahrizai._ Handsome, charming, rich, and incredibly skilled in the bedroom. (It should be noted that we of House Shahrizai consider humility to be almost a crime.) I have never lacked for partners.

This year, I had no particular dalliances that I expected to accompany me, but willing acquaintances aplenty. At the time that my cousin Roshana (who, along with her half-brother Baptiste, spent more time at my father’s estate than her own, and was almost a sister to me (I say almost; we are Shahrizai)) inquired about my plans, I thought I might take Emile, a pretty chambermaid who had been in the habit of warming my bed.

“Emile?” Roshana’s winged eyebrows rose. “She agreed to go with your brother, Davide.”

“Alphonse, then.” I said, hiding my irritation at losing my first choice.

“The crofter’s boy? Also taken.”

“Talia.”

Roshana’s lips curved. “I claimed her myself.”

I felt a moment’s panic that I might actually be left without a partner. It passed quickly. _Someone_ in this province must be eligible and wanting an invitation to the ball.

“A Valerian adept, then. My cousins can’t have claimed _all_ of my favorites.”

They had.

The Night Court maintained a small branch in Kusheth, predominantly of Valerian House, with a lesser portion of Mandrake and the others. The Shahrizai were their most loyal patrons. I paid them a visit.

They were booked, and _Baptiste_ was the culprit. Intending to make a splash at the ball, he had booked eight of Valerian’s adepts, and the rest were quickly snatched up by my other relatives. I felt disappointed I hadn’t thought of it first. I’d be a fine sight, with eight adepts linked to me with a tangle of chains. 

“We could send to the City of Elua,” the Dowayne offered. “There’s still time.”

“And have it known that Mavros Shahrizai sent someone riding hell for leather to commission an adept—any adept—because he can’t find a single willing partner in the entire province? No. Thank you, but no.”

I was desperate. I was utterly desperate. But I had a reputation to uphold. No one could know how dire my troubles were.

I could therefore count on my dear, sweet, _thoughtful_ cousin Roshana to interrogate me about it as soon as I returned. She and Baptiste were lying in wait. 

“Well?”

“All booked,” I confessed, sprawling back on a couch as though I hadn’t a care in the world on the topic.

“I’ll surrender one of mine,” Baptiste offered. “I can make do with seven.”

It was a fair offer, but my pride roiled at accepting my cousin’s charity. Although it was a notch better than sending a desperate messenger to the City of Elua, I would still be the laughingstock of Kusheth. If it came down to accepting his charity or going alone, I would accept, but I still had two weeks to salvage my pride. I would find someone.

“That won’t be necessary,” I assured him, all false confidence. “Actually, I thought I’d take Thierry Valois.”

My cousins stared at me, uncomprehending, and then burst simultaneously into laughter.

Thierry Valois was my father’s Master of Coin. All I knew of him amounted to this: He was about my age, mid-twenties, pale-haired and handsome. In any other country, he would be exceptionally beautiful, but in Terre d’Ange he was ordinary. His skill with numbers was highly valued by my father, and holding the position he did was rare at such a young age. Most importantly, however: he was considered impossible to seduce. It was even rumored he was a virgin (which in Terre d’Ange is almost heresy).

Most of my relatives had tried. Once a few had failed, the seduction became a challenge. I’d made a half-hearted attempt of my own, to no avail. He took no lovers, Shahrizai or otherwise, and after the first few months, the gossip died down and the challenge was forgotten.

If nothing else, I could at least be confident that no one had asked Thierry to the ball.

I gazed loftily down my nose at my cousins, as though my conquest of the celibate Thierry was all but assured. Their laughter died down after a moment as they began to wonder if I really had accomplished the impossible, and how. I waited.

“Thierry?” Baptiste peered doubtfully at me. “He consented?”

I winked. “He will.”

“Mavros, this is sad,” Roshana reprimanded me. “You haven’t got a chance. Whatever his secret, Thierry is keeping it. I couldn’t seduce him. It can’t be done.”

Within, I was a panicky mess. Hiding all my nerves, I smirked at her. “Then I will take pride in succeeding where you have failed.”

Speechless, they stared at me, both of them not quite sure what I had up my sleeve. I took the opportunity to leave before they figured out I was bluffing.

If I failed, my relatives would have a laugh over my pride, and then the attempt would be forgotten as just another Shahrizai who failed to seduce Thierry Valois. Even better, I’d then have an excuse to accept Baptiste’s charity as a consolation. My reputation would be bruised, but intact.

If I succeeded, however, I’d have the envy and admiration of the entire clan.

I found Thierry in what was ostensibly my father’s study, but in reality was entirely Thierry’s. He kept the accounts, consulting my father only on major decisions, and the estates flourished under his supervision.

When I entered, he smiled politely, with that combination of fond, tolerant bemusement that I was accustomed to seeing from my father’s retainers. “My lord Shahrizai?”

It was his hair that made him stand out, in Kusheth. Blond hair was common enough in Terre d’Ange, but Kusheth was dominated by the blue-black hair of the Shahrizai line, like mine. Thierry was as pale as his hair, with fine features and soft, gently curved lips. 

Helping myself to a chair, I indulged a few thoughts of how that rosy skin would look stretched across my bed, thighs painted with pretty pink welts. 

“I’d like you to accompany me to the _Fête des Chaînes_ ,” I told him.

The emotions that flickered across his expressive face were very informative. Impressed surprise, first. He thought we’d all given up. Flattered amusement, second, and that was a good sign. He _liked_ knowing that I wanted him. But the emotion that stayed was bemused disdain, as he figured out—correctly—that I’d tried half the province before I settled on him.

“No,” he said, and returned his attention to his work. The dismissal was so flatly delivered that it was almost rude. I would have taken offense if I didn’t know just how stubbornly he’d been pursued by almost my entire extended family. And if my reputation hadn’t been hanging on my ability to convince him, I might have accepted the situation as impossible. Unfortunately for him, I had two weeks and no other options.

I waited. 

He attempted to ignore me, naturally expecting me to take my bruised pride and find easier prey, as I’d done the last time I’d sought him out. When I didn’t, he was at last forced to raise his head and acknowledge that I was still obstinately sitting in his study. “Was there anything else, my lord Shahrizai?”

“Mavros,” I corrected.

I could see his temper prickle. It made me grin. He always seemed so calm and contained when I saw him around the estate. I’d never heard of Thierry raising his voice, and I’d only witnessed him smile or laugh on a brief handful of occasions. Drawing emotion out of him became a matter of pride. “Was there anything else, my lord Mavros?”

“No,” I answered saucily. “Just that.”

“No,” he repeated, more firmly.

I wasn’t accepting no as an answer. Granted, I couldn’t force or coerce him to attend the ball with me. But it was just possible I could annoy him into agreeing. Even if my bed went cold that night, having Thierry on my leash would be triumph enough.

My continued silent presence force him to try a new tactic. “I can’t, Mavros. I’m sorry.”

It was sincere and honest. I felt a tiny twinge of guilt for trying to force his secret from him. It passed. “Why?” I asked, making my voice gentle but firm.

His gaze dropped, shoulders tightening. “That’s my business, Mavros.”

I felt more guilty. Whatever his secret was, there was sadness in it. “If I promised not to bed you at the end of the party, would you at least consider the invitation?”

Surprised, he looked up, and he _did_ consider it for a moment. I could see him weighing it in his mind.

So it was the _bedding_ that offended him. The scions of Kushiel have a gift of seeing the fault lines in a person’s soul, but I couldn’t see any in him which made sense to me. He hadn’t been hurt or damaged. There was no bitterness in him. I saw a streak of stubborn pride and a secretive nature, but there was no fault line that connected to his obstinate refusal to be seduced. And there _was_ desire in him. I saw a spark of _want_ in his eyes at my offer, as though I’d suggested something he didn’t think he was allowed to have.

“I might,” he agreed, lowering his eyes with a smile.

I understood. I’d seduced enough shy virgins to know that coyness was an invitation.

_Seduce me_.

Oh, I’d already won.

He would agree to attend the ball on my leash. And if I was _very_ clever, I might have his secret in the bargain. There had to be a reason a D’Angeline would keep himself celibate. I intended to find out.

Letting myself out without a word, I tracked down my father’s steward, Gilles. 

“My lord Shahrizai,” Gilles said, not looking up from his inventory of the cellars. He was accustomed to putting up with odd requests from me, and I was fond of his long-suffering and honest nature. 

“I need to know about Thierry Valois,” I said, perching cross-legged on a barrel as I waited to see what game would need to be played before Gilles would comply.

“Thierry? Ah, Elua, truly? I thought you’d given up on him.”

It was difficult to say whether ‘you’ was meant to include my relatives. “Gilles,” I said, giving him a firm look.

“Leave it, Mavros,” he advised.

Not an option. “If I assure you that my goals are friendship, will you help me?”

He weighed me with his gaze. “Are they?”

“Keep a secret?” I asked, lowering my voice.

He leaned in.

“Elua, Gilles, I just need to get him to go to the _Fête des Chaînes_ with me. I already told him that I won’t try to bed him at the end of the night. Friendship. Truly. Will you help me?”

Gilles smiled, shaking his head fondly. “Yes. I trust you. There’s a decent lad under all your bluster.”

“Don’t you dare go damaging my reputation with accusations like that,” I warned him.

“Despite his gift for numbers, he loves books,” Gilles told me, spilling everything he knew. “Histories and poetry, especially Hellene poets. He keeps quiet around strangers and you Shahrizai, but once he’s comfortable, he’s lively and clever. You might actually _like_ him if you are sincere about making friends. But even with his friends, he’s reserved, and he keeps his secrets.”

“Even a hint about why he’s celibate,” I prodded. 

Gilles frowned at me. “I thought you were only trying for friendship.”

“I am. But if I should happen to be successful at getting more than that…” I let the thought trail off with a grin.

He scowled, unsympathetic.

“Books, especially Hellene,” I repeated. “You haven’t got anything else?”

“Nothing. He keeps to himself, Mavros. I know that he’s a merchant’s son from Azzale. Nothing—ah! Wait. Horses.”

“Horses?”

“More than once I’ve seen him gazing after a fine horse.“

“You’re certain it wasn’t the rider?” I teased.

Gilles ignored me. “I know he has a habit of taking apples or carrots to the horses as a treat. Yours is one of his favorites, actually. On a few rare occasions he’s asked to borrow a horse for a ride, but it’s clear he thinks the luxury is above him—although the Master of Coin certainly has the right to ask or even own a horse.”

Books and horses. I could work with that. “Anything else?”

“Nothing. Try Mathilde. He has a soft spot for her.”

I didn’t know anyone with a stomach who _didn’t_ have a soft spot for Mathilde. Sweet and plump, with a true gift for pastries, Mathilde was our cook. I’d been intending to speak to her next, even if Gilles hadn’t suggested it. I sought her out in the kitchen, up to her elbows in flour.

“Mathilde, my love,” I coaxed, kissing her cheek and pinching her hip as I entered. “Tell me about Thierry Valois.”

She peered at me, suspicious. “He’s a nice boy and don’t you dare hurt him.”

“Mathilde!” I clutched my heart and acted injured. “I wouldn’t hurt a mouse. Well. I might hurt him if he asks very nicely.”

She leveled a look at me that said _I know what you are up to and I do not approve._

I countered with my best _I have no idea what you are talking about and I am innocent of all accusations._

She was unconvinced.

“I know that he likes books and horses.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “And if you will keep it _quiet_ , I tell you truly, I’m trying for friendship. I would like to bed him, yes, but all I need is for him to consent to appear at the _Fête des Chaînes_ with me.” I returned to my normal timbre. “My reputation is at stake here, Mathilde. What do you know?”

Doubtfully considering my argument, she thought it over and nodded decisively. “Apples.” 

“Apples,” I repeated, wondering if that was code for something.

“He has a weakness for apples. Apple tarts, apple cider, apple candies, and most of all—fresh apples in autumn. Apples.”

I grinned ear to ear. Apples. Thierry had a passion for _apples_. It was a huge relief to find that he cared passionately about _something_ , even if it was something as ordinary as apples. I found it endearing.

Interrogating three more servants over the course of the afternoon, I found that he was generally liked, even though he was considered an overworked recluse, and that he had once been heard to say that he’d never been in love. I wasn’t sure that was significant, but with so few nuggets of information, I had to value the ones I got.

When I had gotten as much as I thought I could, I returned to Thierry, still hard at work in the study. He glanced up, and allowed himself an indulgent smile. “My lord Shahrizai.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, waiting.

“Mavros,” he corrected himself. There was almost a note of challenge in it.

“Come for a walk with me,” I suggested.

“Not all of us live a life of leisure, Mavros. I have work to do.”

“Not all of us have the goal of working ourselves to death,” I replied. “How long have you been at that desk today?”

His warm brown eyes slid sideways. Too long. I thought so.

“A walk,” I repeated. “That’s harmless, isn’t it? We can talk.”

“Talk,” he said, doubtful of my intentions. 

“ _Talk_. Please.”

I watched him try to come up with a good excuse. In the end, he relented. “Okay. A walk.”

Grinning wide, I held the door for him, and escorted him out to the orchard. I missed none of the suspicious looks he sent me, but I was too elated to care. The gossip that I’d been seen strolling alone with the unseducable Thierry Valois would be halfway across the province by tomorrow. None of my cousins had ever gotten as far. Roshana, who made her skills of seduction a badge of honor, would be livid.

I’d made one hell of a compromise, in order to do so, but I didn’t think I’d mind being friends with Thierry. His quiet, good-natured personality made for good company.

Making idle conversation, I learned about his family and homeland. He came from a happy, simple family, with Elua’s blessing. Two sisters, both still in Azzale. Once a year, he begged leave to visit them.

I couldn’t imagine what had earned his celibacy. He spoke freely on all topics other than his own sexuality. He wasn’t a Cassiline, and he spoke of Elua like a D’Angeline, so he hadn’t been lured away by other religions. He hadn’t been traumatized, and there wasn’t any hint of loyalty to an absent or dead lover. 

I was baffled. My only comfort was that my family was just as clueless.

“Why me, Mavros?” he asked. “Why the _Fête des Chaînes_?”

“I find myself without other options,” I confessed, though I hated to do so. “I told my cousins that I was taking you, in order to rescue my damaged pride.”

“And if I go with you, they’ll assume you’ve seduced me.”

“Yes.” 

His face was serene beneath the dappled shadows from the orchard, and the twilight was too dim to read the subtleties in his expression. He was quiet for a few moments, and then laughed. “I wouldn’t mind that, really. It would probably make things easier on me, if I had a bit of a reputation.”

Initially stunned, I started to laugh after a moment at the sheer absurdity of it. “You’ll let people think that I’ve seduced you, for the sake of both our reputations? Why?”

“You know why.” He stopped beneath a tree, leaning back against it. “Your entire family takes my chastity as a personal challenge.”

“Well, it is a bit _odd_ , for a D’Angeline.”

He didn’t take that bait. “If people thought I’d bedded you, they might leave off.”

Knowing the Shahrizai, I thought about that. “They might,” I agreed. “At the least, I don’t think it would make them any more determined.”

“It’s a deal, then,” he agreed. “I’ll go with you to the _Fête des Chaînes_ , and we’ll let people think what they will.”

I grinned, trying not to wonder why I’d felt more elated when he’d agreed to walk with me.

~

I went the next day to bother him again, and brought with me a little packet of candies I’d purchased in town.

The look of surprise on his face was honestly a little insulting. He had evidently assumed that I’d leave him alone once I got what I wanted. “Mavros?”

“Hello to you, too,” I said, dropping the packet on the desk in front of him.

He blinked at it, puzzled and a little bit flattered. “What’s this?”

I ignored the question, letting him open it and see, and savored the bright look of pleasure on his face when he found the candies within. 

“Why are you bringing me candies?” he asked, although he did give in and try one of them. His eyelashes fluttered once with bliss, and the sight shot straight to my groin. 

“I’m seducing you,” I pointed out.

“Pretending to,” he corrected. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked on the candy. I was careful to shift only very slightly in my chair, suspecting that he had honestly no idea what effect he was having.

“Come riding with me.”

His eyes widened slightly. I liked seeing what _temptation_ looked like on his face. “What?”

“It is common knowledge that you work too much, and no one’s going to believe you were seduced in a single afternoon. Come riding with me.”

“I have to finish this.”

I knew an empty protestation when I heard it. “I already ordered the horses saddled. If you resist I shall start stealing important-looking papers.”

He glared at me and spread his arms over the papers on the desk. I burst out laughing at the adorably indignant expression on his face, and after a moment, he softened, unable to help smiling back at me.

“Say yes,” I ordered.

Fighting with himself for only a few moments more, he nodded. “Yes.”

This time, I steered him out of the estate with a few light touches on the small of his back, grinning to myself when he couldn’t resist leaning into the touch.

He was a good rider, although inexperienced. I didn’t think he’d sat a horse more than a dozen times in his life. 

As we left the stables, I gave him a few light hints about his posture. When he took them well, I turned it into a full lesson, teaching him the finer points of riding. He learned quickly, with an easy laugh and no sense of injured pride when I corrected him, and I found myself proving the truth of what I’d promised Gilles and Mathilde: I wanted to be his friend.

Every day after that, I found an excuse to steal him away from his work for at least an hour or two. We went on picnics, and talked for hours about Hellene poetry. I found him surprisingly well-read for a merchant’s son, with intelligent opinions on a variety of topics. Within days, we were dear friends, and I found myself making frequent excuses to Roshana and Baptiste as I spurned their company for his.

“How are you doing this?” Roshana demanded, eyes narrowed at me.

I smirked up at her, extremely self-satisfied. “Doing what?”

“ _Thierry Valois_. The untouchable, celibate, _virginal_ Thierry Valois.”

All innocence, I lifted my eyebrows as if to ask what she could _possibly_ be suggesting. “What about him?”

“He’s besotted. His eyes follow you around the room, and he’s usually glued to your side. _How_ are you doing this?”

_Do his eyes really follow me around a room?_ I hadn’t noticed that. Internally, I thanked Roshana for the information. On the surface, I flashed her my most shameless grin. “I’m irresistible, cousin, that’s all.” 

~

“Tell me,” I said, head in his lap. I’d dragged him away from his work, off on a picnic, and harangued him into feeding me grapes like a Tiberian Imperator.

“Tell you what?” he was playing with my hair, unraveling my braids one at a time. Roshana would throw a fit, but that was hardly reason to discourage Thierry’s hands in my hair.

“Your secret. Why you’re celibate.”

“No,” he said, smiling.

“Have you sworn a vow of celibacy?”

He laughed, nimble hands massaging at my scalp. “No.”

“Is your virgin-price promised to some Akkadian nobleman?”

He giggled helplessly, bending over to rest his forehead against mine. “Definitely not.”

“Have you disowned Elua’s blessing and sworn to never surrender to his precept?”

“ _Love as thou wilt,_ ” he whispered, his lips brushing my forehead. 

Oh.

_Besotted_ , Roshana had said.

“Tell me,” I persisted, when I could speak again.

“No.”

My hair, when he had removed the last of the braids, fluffed out in the tight little curls that the braids had set into it. On some of us, this look was flattering. On me, it was not.

When Thierry got over his fits of laughter about it, he combed it out with his fingers and reworked it into a complex and elegant Azzaline braid. The tight kinks in my hair from the Shahrizai braids gave the pattern texture. I wore it proudly for a day, but the weave was ruined when I slept on it, and Roshana made me sit while she returned my hair to the Shahrizai braids and scolded.

I acquired a second horse, so that I wouldn’t have to keep borrowing my cousin’s horses for his use, and pretended to complain about how it was just one more part of all the trouble Thierry had been to me when he noticed and pointed it out. He saw through my pretense, and kissed me in thanks. It was midday in the stable, with plenty of onlookers around to see. If any of my relatives had remaining doubts about my ability to seduce Thierry, that convinced them.

It almost convinced me.

Twice I opened my mouth to ask Roshana: _do you think ‘besotted’ means I might actually have a chance at seducing him?_ But of course I couldn’t ask without admitting that I’d originally won him on a pretense. And the _Fête des Chaînes_ was getting closer.

I had given my couturier detailed instructions about how I wanted Thierry dressed, but I left him unmolested for most of the day of the party, focused on my own preparations.

For myself, I had chosen a black velvet doublet, cut according to the latest fashion and chased with very light accents of silver embroidery. It hugged my chest tightly, showing off my broad shoulders and slender waist, a tribute to youth and fashion. Taken alone, the outfit had too much black, and my black hair—in its usual myriad of tight braids—made the ensemble almost overwhelmingly dark. 

But I counted on having Thierry at my side, and my wardrobe had been chosen to complement his.

He looked breathtaking in ivory satin. His simple, loose shirt was laced chastely all the way up, as though he was going anywhere other than a Shahrizai fête, but his pale deerskin breeches cleaved tightly to his hips. The outfit was simple yet exquisite, as I requested, like an angel masquerading as a shepherd. A delicate silver chain rested on his hair like a crown. He had cleverly woven braidwork around the crown to keep it in place on his hair.

Blushing under my lengthy and appreciative study, he took a step back into his room, letting me come inside.

I hadn’t seen the interior of his chambers before this. He ranked highly in the household, as the Master of Coin, and his rooms were appropriately spacious, but they were simple and unadorned. As much as I’d discovered he liked luxury, he never sought it out for himself. I enjoyed showering it upon him, but I did wonder why he had such a sense of not _deserving_ luxuries.

“This is meant to be open,” I teased him, tugging the laces of his shirt open so that they showed off his pretty collarbones. As pale as he was, his skin was a shade darker than mine—almost the same gold-toned ivory as the shirt I’d put him in. 

Expecting him to quarrel playfully with me over the laces, I was surprised by his shy obedience. Unsure of what this betokened, I lifted his chin with a finger, checking his expression.

He met my eyes and smiled. I could see his confidence rise the moment his eyes locked on mine. Oh. He wasn’t merely besotted. He was in love with me. 

I’d just meant to seduce his body. Instead I’d won his heart. 

I didn’t have time to figure out what that meant or what I wanted to do about it. All I could hope was that I didn’t hurt him in the meantime.

“One last thing,” I told him, unwrapping the parcel I’d brought with me. Inside was a black velvet collar resting on a coiled silver chain. 

That blush of his returned, deeper than ever. I steered him over to a mirror, wanting to see this. He looked seraphic, dressed all in ivory and satin, with golden hair and light brown eyes. The black I was wearing set him off perfectly, as I’d hoped, and together we were black and gold, the colors of the Shahrizai emblem.

His breath caught as I fastened the collar around his neck, the one black accent on his outfit making the perfect symbol that this angel belonged to me. Securing the silver chain on its clasp, I tugged very gently at his leash.

He turned, letting me pull him in close. Lifting his head as he did so, he met my lips boldly for a kiss. 

Oh, Elua. I _wanted_. 

Our kiss in the stable had been short and sweet. This was neither. He melted against me, letting me ravage his mouth. His kiss was honest and trusting, a little bit reserved and with an edge of stubborn playfulness. I twisted my arms around his waist, crushing his body against mine, and lost all track of time as I kissed him.

My hand slid down his body, clasping his hip. I wanted to feel him. I wanted to peel him out of his pristine ivory clothes and throw him down on the bed. 

I stopped suddenly, pulling my hands back, afraid that I was going to push him too far. He’d made his limits very clear, and to force a partner was heresy to D’Angelines, and punishable by death.

Flushed and panting, he certainly didn’t look unwilling. He looked momentarily hurt at the rejection. Then he smiled, accepting. I hoped that meant he understood why I stopped, and took it as a compliment how much I wanted to continue.

“We’re going to be late,” he whispered.

I kissed him again, chaste and quick this time. “As long as everyone sees me with you, I don’t care.”

Duc Faragon’s estate was an hour’s ride from my father’s. Many of the guests who came from across Terre d’Ange would have arrived earlier and stayed overnight, or had found temporary lodgings in the city. My family had gone on ahead, most of them each in their own carriage. My carriage was a simple rental, but Thierry was nonetheless impressed.

I flirted shamelessly with him on the ride to the ball, luring him onto my lap and stealing kisses until we were nearly at the estate and I had to make use of all the willpower I could summon in order to settle him on the far side of the carriage and to compose myself back to a level fit for polite society. Or Shahrizai society, which was not the same thing.

Duc Faragon’s mansion was built for this event. It was a huge, sprawling manor, designed so that there would always be spare rooms aplenty for visiting Shahrizai cousins. The entire clan could fit comfortably inside our patriarch’s estate, which was a considerable accomplishment. I had always been fond of the ‘follies’ built by a scattering of artistic Shahrizai Ducs over the years, whimsical little architectural specks that dotted the lands surrounding the estate.

The fête was already in grand form, light and laughter spilling out every door and window. I led Thierry inside with a hand on his back and the chain of his leash looped around my wrist. His expression was excited and trusting, and I had to hope it stayed that way. Once we were inside, my attention was going to be stolen by the dozen little games of social power that my relatives liked to play. I trusted that if he became overwhelmed, he would let me know.

Anyone who hadn’t heard about my triumph with Thierry Valois learned about it within a minute of our arrival. The spread of the rumor around the party was almost visible, and I could see my reputation rising along with it. Half the Shahrizai of the province congratulated me on my catch. Thierry blushed to the tips of his ears every time someone congratulated _him_.

I escaped them all as quickly as I could, keeping Thierry out on the dance floor where I could show him off without my relatives coming over to smirk and tease.

Another family might have had difficulty navigating a ball filled with so many leashes, but we were Shahrizai. The place glittered with chains of silver and gold, and yet we all moved through the tangle with grace and ease. We had traditional dances designed to be done with one partner on a leash. This was our heritage, and we were proud of it.

Thierry accepted a single glass of wine, sipping at it slowly. I drank more liberally, though I was careful to keep control of my wits. Thierry was my responsibility, and I’d brought him into a social minefield of the most deadly predators in the nation.

Several of my cousins tried to steal Thierry away from me for a dance. I allowed it once, with Roshana, because Thierry smiled and assured me that it was fine. I spent the dance good-naturedly mocking Baptiste for repeatedly tangling the chains of his eight partners. When Thierry was returned to me, I pulled him jealously close. He tucked himself against my side, head on my shoulder. Roshana clucked at us for being “precious.”

When I started to see couples dismissing themselves from the dance floor, I took the opportunity to escape. Most of them would be heading downstairs, to the amply-appointed dungeon rooms. I usually did the same. Tonight, however, I wanted privacy. We couldn’t leave the party—no one would ever believe that I’d bedded him, if we left. 

I knew the way through Duc Faragon’s estate. On the second floor, near the back, was a set of rooms that would likely stay untouched, even tonight. They were small, unassuming, and too far from the party for my intoxicated relatives to find. Taking along a candle to light our way, I chose one that was clean and quiet, I fastened all of the locks on the door, and leaned back against it with a smile.

Thierry took my candle from me, glowing golden in its light as he went around the room and lit all the candles he could find. I stayed against the door, trying to fight down the chasm of _wanting_ that opened inside me.

He stopped in front of me, setting down the candle that we’d started with. I kept my mouth shut and my hands flat against the door, afraid that if I let myself move, I’d grab him.

Smiling, his eyes flicked briefly over my form, figuring out the reason for my tension. And then he made it worse by pressing up against me and sealing his lips to mine.

I pulled him close without a moment’s hesitation, my hands clasping his buttocks and holding him tight. Abandoning all niceties of kissing, I devoured his mouth, spinning him around so that I could pin him hard against the door, taking full control of the situation.

Beautifully willing, he writhed against me, his arms tight around my back. I ached with want, and I had one hand down the back of his breeches before I realized what I was doing. He hadn’t consented. Willing though he seemed, as far as I knew he was still a virgin and wanted to stay that way.

I pulled back fast, furious with myself.

“Mavros?” he panted for breath, one hand grabbing the front of my shirt as he tried to pull me back in.

“Sorry,” I whispered, keeping my eyes closed. I feared that if I saw him, looking flushed and wanton in that ivory silk, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself in control. “I won’t… I think I’d better just keep my hands off you.”

“ _Mavros_ ,” he laughed, sweet and fond. “Mavros, look at me.”

Puzzled, I opened my eyes. He cupped my cheek and held my gaze. “Mavros, you know I’m not intoxicated.”

He wasn’t. I nodded to confirm it.

“Then please know I mean it when I say yes, please.”

My eyebrows lifted, not quite daring to hope.

“Take me. Please. I want it to be you.”

Oh, Elua. What did I do to deserve this blessing?

I kissed him, soft and careful. “You’re certain?” I murmured against his lips.

“I’m certain. Truly.”

“What about your vow?”

“Name of Elua, Mavros, there was never a vow.”

“Are you a virgin?”

His cheeks flushed, but he lifted his chin slightly, proud. I adored him for that pride. “Yes.”

“I’ll be gentle, Thierry, but I _am_ Shahrizai. Are you familiar with the use of a _signale_?”

“Yes.” He held my gaze, confident and calm. “Apples.”

I grinned. “ _Apples._ ”

Pushing him back up against the door, I kissed him again. My tightly-leashed control had shifted into the patient, predatory certainty of the Shahrizai. He was mine. I had all night to savor this, and oh, I planned to take my time with him. A small part of me lauded that I’d _won_ , I’d triumphed where the rest of the Shahrizai had failed, but I ignored it. I had more important things demanding my attention. 

Holding him pinned with a hand on his chest, I scanned the room. Even this back-corner room was stocked to expect Shahrizai guests. Deciding quickly what I wanted, I turned back to him with a grin. “Strip,” I commanded, leaning in to brush a kiss against the side of his throat. “And stand in the center of the room.” 

Eyes dark with pleasure, he nodded, stepping past me to the center of the room. I lounged against a couch, savoring his willing submission, and the shy beauty of his movements as he undressed for me. Folding each piece and setting them aside, he stripped down completely, until he wore only the silver crown on his hair and the black velvet collar on his throat, the chain of his leash trailing down his stomach and brushing the side of his erect phallus.

“You’re beautiful,” I breathed, watching him for a moment more, to test his trust in me and his submission. He stayed, patient and faithful. He loved me. I felt honored by the gift.

Rising slowly, I fetched a pair of manacles and a short length of chain. The cold iron cuffs were lined with silk. Thierry didn’t hesitate before offering me his wrists. 

I’d had virgins before, but all of them had been adepts of Valerian House, and trained for years to Shahrizai tastes. I knew that Thierry might not share those tastes, but I trusted my sweet, stubborn partner. He would tell me if he wanted to stop.

He gasped in surprise as I pulled the chain up, securing his arms above his head and forcing him onto tip-toes. I fastened it before stepping down and lifting his chin, checking his expression for signs of unhappiness. He grinned at me. Delighted, I laughed and kissed him. 

I’d made him completely vulnerable for me. He was naked, bound and erect, the fine hairs on his skin raised from the slight chill in the room, while I was fully clothed and comfortable. 

Taking my time with him, I pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, my hands coming around to hold his belly and pull him back against me. His breath caught, but his hips rolled back into me, grinding himself wantonly against my groin.

“Patience,” I teased, exploring his body with lips and hands, savoring each gasp and moan that I won from him. He shifted on his toes, weight strained between the pull on his arms. My insistence on making him squirm wasn’t helping any.

Dropping to my knees in front of him, I kissed his belly, looking up at him with a grin. I wanted him to understand that tonight was about his pleasure, no matter what path I might choose to get there. His eyes widened at me, and he licked his lips hopefully.

Holding him in place with a hand on his hip, I stroked his phallus slowly, learning which touches made him whimper and shudder. He kept his eyes on me, as if he was searing every moment onto his memory, and I made certain that our eyes were locked as I lowered my head for the _languissement_.

His head fell back with a choked sound, wrists straining against his bonds. It was an incredible sight, watching him try to keep his eyes focused on me as his body betrayed him. Again and again his eyes rolled up with pleasure, eyelashes fluttering. A few moments were all I needed before he gave up any thought of keeping quiet.

“ _Mavros,_ ” he begged, saying my name like a prayer. I responded by swallowing him to the hilt.

It didn’t take long at all before he cried out with pleasure and came for me. Licking his seed from my lips, I stood, holding his shivering body close as I reached up and unlocked his manacles.

He fell into my arms, hugging me tight and shuddering. Patient, I held him, resting my chin on his shoulder and waiting for his breathing to steady.

After a minute, he looked up, meeting my eyes.

“Ready to continue?” I asked.

Speechless, he nodded.

I kissed him, dipping my tongue into his mouth to let him taste himself. Breaking it with a grin, I pushed him gently away from me. “That low couch over there,” I said, indicating with my chin. “On your knees.”

Nodding his understanding, he drew away from me. Kneeling on the seat of the couch with his arms resting on the back, he looked back over his shoulder to check for my approval. I grinned, admiring that view for a moment before I forced my attention away. 

Finding the items I wanted in a drawer, I moved to stand behind him. He went still with anticipation, keeping his eyes forward. 

The room was chilly at night in late autumn, and I could tell he was getting colder, his shivers now more from temperature than from arousal. I’d have to do something about that soon. First, however…

He gasped as the first oil-slicked finger pushed inside. I opened my mouth to make certain he was willing, but before I got any words out, he spread his legs a little wider. The invitation couldn’t have been clearer. Pleased, I pushed in a second finger, wanting to make him gasp. His shivers were getting worse, so I wasn’t inclined to take my time. 

I’d found a polished wooden plug in the drawer with the oil, slender enough that I felt comfortable starting with it. Slicking it thoroughly, I pushed it inside. His body accepted it readily, although Thierry himself looked over his shoulder in surprise. Leaning over to kiss him, I rested a hand on his hip. “It will help loosen you up,” I explained. “On your belly, now.”

Very carefully, getting accustomed to the feeling of the wooden plug filling him up, he shifted to lay on his belly on the couch, watching me quietly.

Tossing a blanket over him to warm him up, I let him watch as I moved to the fireplace and started to build a fire. 

“I can do that,” he said, some ingrained sense of the natural order of things prickling at him.

I cast an amused glance over my shoulder. “Why, because I’m a noble you think I can’t make a fire? Stay. Relax.” 

Slightly offended at the possibility he thought I _couldn’t_ light a fire, I worked efficiently to get it roaring. Kusheth was a harsh province, and the Shahrizai were taught to survive.

When I looked over again, he was smiling, love clear in his eyes. I crawled over and knelt by his side, kissing him. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Good.” He shivered deliciously, eyes closing for each kiss. “I like it. I want it to be you.”

“Soon,” I promised.

Stripping down to my breeches as he watched, I dug through a chest at the foot of the bed, surprised at the selection provided for even this small, forgotten room. He watched me over the back of the couch, head on his arms. I grinned every time he shifted and then winced, getting used to having something inside him. 

If I had my way, he’d be getting _very_ used to that feeling.

His eyes went wide when I lifted out a soft leather flogger. I cocked an eyebrow, waiting to see if he would object. He didn’t. Instead, he moved back onto his knees, bracing himself against the back of the couch.

“Exquisite,” I praised him, pausing for a lingering kiss. My phallus throbbed and ached with need, but I ignored it. Shahrizai take pride in their patience, especially as it is not a trait that comes naturally to us.

I stood behind him again, pulling the plug halfway out of him before sliding it back in. He cried out with pleasure, and I was momentarily blinded with the desire to take him _now_.

Forcing myself to patience, I pressed kisses down his spine. “Are you certain you’re willing to try this?”

“I want to try,” he confirmed. “If I don’t like it…”

“The _signale_ ,” I reminded him.

He smiled over his shoulder at me, and nodded. “I will.”

Trailing the flogger gently over his buttocks, I gave one very light, tentative swat.

He _laughed_ and shot me a look. “That almost tickled, Mavros. Did your arm twitch?”

Laughing at his sauciness, I gave him a proper swat, earning a yelp.

“Again,” he said, wide-eyed and flushed. 

Slow and patient, I laid a few more strokes across his buttocks and thighs, relishing the way that he gasped at each one. He yelped each time I hit him across the buttocks, making the plug inside him shift.

“Mavros,” he whimpered, breathless. 

I struck him again.

“Mavros, _please_.”

My arm pulled back, ready to hit him again, before I remembered myself. He wasn’t a Valerian adept, nor a Shahrizai.

Having mercy, I dropped the flogger, running my fingers over his sensitive skin. He shuddered, arching his back to present himself. 

Grinning at that, I hooked my fingers around the base of the plug inside him, pulling it out slowly. He moaned, reaching down to touch himself. I caught his hand before he could. “No,” I purred. “Not yet.”

Thierry whimpered, but obeyed, using his hands to brace himself on the couch. 

The thread of my patience was almost ready to snap. Shedding my breeches quickly, I oiled my shaft and stood behind him. Ah, Elua! He was tight. I pushed in with slow, shallow thrusts, holding myself back as much as I could. 

He writhed, babbling my name and begging for more, caught in a beautiful net of pleasure and pain. I slid in to the hilt, wrapping my arms around him to hold him there. 

“Thierry,” I murmured.

“I love you,” he confessed, shuddering deliciously in my arms.

“I know.” I pressed my face against the back of his neck. I wasn’t certain if I loved him. I was very certain I wanted to keep him. “You’re exquisite. I think I might have to make you mine.” 

He laughed softly at that, warm and content. It lasted for a moment, and then he rolled his hips back against mine, and all trace of warm and content hardening into lust.

My patience was gone. Thrusting into him as slow and gentle as I could bear, I held him tight, savoring each gasp and squirm from my Thierry. I needed this. I needed _him_. Sinking my teeth into his shoulder, I held on there while I thrust into him, leaving a ragged bruise on his golden skin. 

“ _Please,_ Mavros,” he begged, hips pushing back eagerly to meet each thrust. 

I knew what he wanted. Reaching down, I wrapped my hand around his length, stroking it quickly. 

“ _Mavros,_ ” he gasped, climax crashing through him. I didn’t stop, letting his body pull me into my own climax and spending myself inside him.

He was limp and warm beneath me, shaking with the occasional aftershock. Careful, I pulled out, tugging him to his feet and half-carrying him to the bed. 

Thierry cuddled against me, passing out immediately from exhaustion. I watched him sleep, wondering what had changed to make him consent, and whether he would still be glad for it tomorrow morning. I wanted him in my bed on a regular basis.

Locking my arms around him, I slept.

~

Thierry woke me in the morning, stirring beneath me. 

I grumbled and pinned him out of reflex, which made him laugh. “Let me up, Mavros. I need to piss.”

That made me smirk. I flopped onto my back and let him go. It was early—still morning. Most of my kin wouldn’t be up for hours yet. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Happy.” He climbed into bed next to me. I trailed my fingers along his side, thinking about another round. 

He raised his eyebrows at me. I grinned. He laughed.

“You’re impossible,” he said, one hand sneaking down to stroke me.

I replied with a happy rumble, stirring my hips up into his hand. 

“Where’s the oil you used?”

“By the couch.” 

He rolled out of bed to fetch it. I watched him go, elated that this meant he was fine with what had happened. He wanted it to happen again.

I set my arms behind my head, letting him do as he pleased. 

Pulling the covers back, he took a moment to admire me in his turn, running his hand lightly along my shaft. “Will you let me take you, like that?”

Grinning broadly, I spread my legs for him. “Gladly. I’ll even let you take a whip to me, if it pleases you. It all pleases me.”

He took a moment to consider that, settling between my legs. “How do I keep from hurting you?”

“You won’t. As long as you used the oil, you could take me hard right now, without any preparation, and I would love it.”

He grinned down at me, deliciously scandalized. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

Reaching down, he rubbed two wet fingers against my entrance, pushing them carefully inside. I lifted my hips and groaned happily, hoping to encourage him to more of this. 

“Do you want it like that?” he asked, cheeks bright with a blush.

“Please.”

Shy and unsure, he stroked oil over his phallus and lined himself up, very carefully pushing himself in. I let him take things at his own pace, enjoying the emotions that flickered across his face as he entered me. 

“Good?” he asked. 

“Very good.” I lifted my hips, taking him deeper inside, which made him groan. “You won’t hurt me. Go on. Take what you want.”

He didn’t last long, spilling into me with a gasp and blushing furiously about it. I laughed at his face and kissed him, teaching him to perform the _languissement_. 

He learned fast.

“Tell me,” I commanded, once we were dressed and settled into the carriage to return home. 

“Hm?” He cuddled sleepily at my side, not used to being up such late nights.

“Your secret.”

He blushed. “Truly, Mavros, you’ll be disappointed. It isn’t some dramatic vow, like you think.”

“Tell me.”

Nodding, he dropped his eyes. “When I was fifteen, a Tsingani woman told my fortune. Among the other, unexceptional things, she said that I would only ever love once, and only ever take one lover to my bed.”

My eyebrows lifted. One partner, for a whole life? “You believe her?”

“Maybe. I’m not certain. But I decided that I didn’t want to … risk it, I suppose. If it is true, I didn’t want to waste my one time on a casual dalliance. I decided to wait, and promised myself that I wouldn’t go to anyone’s bed unless I loved them.”

I had won him. I had truly won him, body and heart. I didn’t feel triumphant. I felt _guilty_.

Only ever one partner for his whole life, and he’d chosen _me_?

“And now?” I asked, wary.

He didn’t answer. I glanced down and found him asleep.

Ill at ease, I held him close and thought.

One lover. Just one.

I couldn’t do it. I’d go mad. I’d feel trapped. The resentment would itch at me and I’d grow to hate my partner. Ah, Elua! Only _one_?

When I thought Thierry had some vast, heart-rending vow, I could understand his chastity. The idea held a certain romantic appeal. But the idea that he could only ever take one lover, in all his life… I couldn’t comprehend. It would have driven me mad. If a Tsingani woman had given _me_ that prophecy, I would have bedded three lovers the same night, even if I died of it.

I am Shahrizai. We love freely and passionately, and we do not bother being squeamish about subjects of love and pain. Monogamy is a rare exception among us, and it is not in my nature.

I couldn’t offer him loyalty. It would destroy me.

And now, the guilt gnawed at me. If I had known his curse, would I still have bedded him?

I wasn’t sure.

~

My cousins spent the first day back from the party recovering. The second day, they tracked me down and cornered me in my rooms. 

“How was it?” Baptiste demanded.

My lips curved, unable to resist a smile at the memory. “Incredible.”

“Was he truly a virgin?”

I cocked an eyebrow to indicate that wasn’t any of his business, but answered nonetheless. “Yes.”

“Why?” Roshana demanded. “And _how_ did you win him?”

As much as I wanted to refuse to answer, I knew she’d get some answer out of me eventually. “He’ll only bed with someone he loves,” I told her, simplifying matters to avoid awkward explanations. 

“Oh.”

I smirked at her. “You didn’t think of that, did you?”

“No.” She wrinkled her nose prettily. “It seems all very simple when you say it like that.”

“It sounds simple, and yet it would be heresy to win love that you didn’t intend to keep.”

It was true, but there must have been too much bitterness in my tone. She looked sharply at me, trying to puzzle out what I hadn’t told her. “You don’t love him, then.”

“I don’t know, Roshana. Truly.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then thought the better of it. Baptiste kept his shut.

~

I avoided him.

Elua forgive me, I didn’t mean to. A thousand times I meant to go to him, but always found some excuse.

It was too easy to avoid him. I had always sought him out in his room or the study. I had always been the one who dragged him off on adventures. When I didn’t seek him out, our paths crossed but rarely. The first time I saw him across a room, days had passed. He met my eyes for an instant, surprised and hurt, and quickly found an excuse to leave.

I was miserable. Guilty and melancholy, I avoided everyone and kept to my rooms to sulk. Roshana, bless her, dragged me out time and again, forcing me to eat and socialize. She put up with this for a week before losing her temper and ordering me to talk to him. 

I went.

His eyes went wide when he opened the door. “Mavros!”

“I’ve been an ass,” I confessed, praying he at least wouldn’t slam the door in my face. “Can we talk?”

Swallowing, he nodded, and held the door open wider.

I stepped inside, holding out a little glass jug that I’d acquired for him. “Apple brandy. The finest.”

“Mavros,” he said, unsure what the gift betokened. He took it, careful not to let our hands touch. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, awkward and guilty. “I can’t. I can’t be loyal to you, Thierry. It would drive me mad.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “I never asked you to.”

I kept my eyes on the floor, frustrated with myself and feeling trapped. Apologies were difficult for me. Shahrizai is a proud bloodline. “I’ve been avoiding you all week because I’m terrified that you will.”

He huffed out a sympathetic laugh, and set down the jug. “Mavros. No. Listen to me. I don’t mind my prophecy. Chastity never bothered me, because there was never anyone who made me want to take that risk. But it’s only for me. I don’t expect anyone else to live that way, especially not you. I don’t want you to be exclusive to me. I don’t mind. Truly.” 

I lifted my head to find him standing in front of me, very close. 

“I’d like to be yours, if you’ll have me,” he continued. “All I want is to be allowed to love you, and to share your bed from time to time.”

“You’ll be jealous,” I argued, defensively.

“Sometimes, maybe. If you love others and never love me, yes. I will. I don’t mind that. Name of Elua, Mavros, I don’t have any reason to believe the prophecy was a true one. Maybe I’ll fall in love with a dozen handsome strangers, and bed them all at once.”

A grin tilted my lips at the thought, and I found myself begin to relax.

“I believe we make our own future,” he said, slipping his hands around my waist. “Even if the prophecy was true, that doesn’t mean it can’t change.”

I pulled him close, feeling an ache in my heart loosen. It felt right, having him in my arms. I hadn’t realized until now how deeply I’d missed him. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” He grinned, leaning in to kiss me. “You’re an idiot.”

I kissed him back deeply, pouring into it all the emotion I felt for him, and he melted in my arms. 

“Make up for lost time?” I suggested, hands sneaking down to cup his rear.

“Gods, yes.”

“My room,” I decided, grabbing him with one hand and the brandy with the other and hauling him down the hall. He stumbled after me, laughing, and we almost crashed into Mathilde in the hallway.

“ _Mathilde_ ,” I said, kissing her. “Have I thanked you lately for being wonderful?”

She laughed and tsked at me, batting me off, and I dragged Thierry the rest of the way to my bedroom. “She told me you liked apples.” 

“I do like apples,” he agreed, pressing close and kissing me again.

I’d forgotten how good he was at that. We had plenty of time, so I let him lead the kiss, and returned it playfully. 

“May I tie you up?” I asked, mischievous. 

“That sounds wonderful.”

Giggling like idiots, we stumbled out of our clothes and cracked open the brandy. I set him on his knees in the middle of my bed, naked, and tied his hands in front of him. Taking a moment to admire the view, I leaned back against one of my bedposts, considering what to do with him. “Are you ticklish?”

His eyes went wide.

Oh, that was a yes.

Fetching a silken blindfold, I tied it around his head. His breath caught, excited and trusting. 

Pressing a few soft kisses to the skin of his shoulder, I drew my fingers up his sides. He squirmed and laughed immediately, trying to wiggle away from me. “Mavros!”

I pulled him back, doing it again. He giggled helplessly, trying to get away, but I kept him trapped. 

“ _Mavros_ ,” he begged, and then moaned, rubbing himself against me. That made my eyes widen. Oh, that turned him on, did it? 

Straddling his waist, I pushed him down on his back and pinned his hands above his head, starting to test the different touches and caresses that made him laugh and which ones made him moan. Before long, I had him moaning and shuddering helplessly, his back arching completely off the bed as he tried to get closer to me. 

“Mavros, please.”

I stopped, kissing him softly. Puzzled by my sudden gentleness, he returned it, nipping curiously at my lower lip.

“I do love you,” I whispered.

His lips parted in surprise. I tugged up his blindfold so that I could see his eyes.

“Truly?” he asked, hopeful.

“Truly.” I kissed him, much more heated this time. He moaned into my mouth.

Breaking away, I fetched oil from my bedside drawer and laid back, propping myself up on one elbow to watch him. “I want to watch you prepare yourself this time.”

His cheeks flushed red, but he reached for the vial of oil. Pouring some into his hand, he settled himself on all fours, making sure I had a good view, and began fingering himself open. He was unsure of the best way to go about it, but watching him figure it out was half the pleasure. I let him prepare himself for a few minutes before I sat up and pushed two of my fingers in alongside his. My angle was better, and my fingers could go deeper. He gasped at the feeling, pressing himself back onto my hand. 

“Beautiful,” I said, and he blushed, ducking his head. 

I did love him.

“Come here,” I ordered, leaning back. He glanced over, figuring out what I wanted, and then moved to straddle my hips. 

Nodding encouragement, I leaned up to steal a kiss, then let him take it at his own pace. 

He took me in hand, blushing deep red as he figured out how to settle himself down onto my phallus. I groaned—he was so tight, and so eager to please. And he loved me. I was a lucky man.

Sliding all the way down, he stopped for a moment, breath coming quickly.

“I love watching that,” I told him. “Seeing it disappear inside of you. It feels incredible.” 

“Gods, Mavros.” He leaned over and kissed me, hips grinding very slightly against mine. 

“My Thierry,” I whispered. 

His smile lit his face like sunlight.

Slowly, he began to move, riding my length at his own speed. I let him take it slow, reaching down to stroke him. I loved the way he fit in my palm. 

He came like that, slowly easing himself up and down until he shuddered and climaxed, his seed spattering my chest. I grinned and tumbled him to the side, stealing his breath away with kisses. 

“You didn’t—“ he started to say, but I kissed him again.

“I will,” I said, already planning out what I wanted to do next. “We have a whole life worth of time. We will.”


End file.
